


Violent Delights

by aleela



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: (and a bit spicy), Angst, Existential Dread, M/M, Park Seonghwa-centric, i use fuck a few dozen times im sorry, it's vaguely happy at the end!, seonghwa is a pretty shitty person in this, this is just 3k words of me projecting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 21:33:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19071100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aleela/pseuds/aleela
Summary: Seonghwa wakes up with a feeling of dread threatening to eat him alive, and an arm wrapped snugly around his chest. He's a flower in full bloom – a prickly rose in all its glory, and Hongjoong is his cherry bough laden with blossom.(or: Seonghwa tries to keep Hongjoong away, but, somehow, all his thoughts end up being about him anyway.)





	Violent Delights

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warnings: mentions of a person under the influence of drugs (it's only in one paragraph), mentions of alcohol use and a vague hand job at the end, hence the mature rating.
> 
> it took me a month and a half to write this and i didn't edit it i hate myself :( 
> 
> thanks to mr willy shakes we have the title bc im unoriginal (its from this quote:  
> "These violent delights have violent ends  
> And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,  
> Which, as they kiss, consume.")
> 
> as always, i bring you the sad in the form of (hopefully) some okay sentences, thank you for reading <3 kudos + comments make me rlly happy!  
> -ela

There are times when Seonghwa feels like he is not real. Not really dead, but also not alive in the way the word _alive_ means. A place inside a limbo, an in-between. It is a feeling so deep-set in his bones and engraved into his skin, the inside of his elbows, and under his knees, and on the back of his neck, burning hot as coal in a hearth, that sometimes he just wants to destroy something. A pretty pair of porcelain cups and matching plates, or the windows of his apartment (there aren’t that many, anyway), a whole cathedral, or just empty bottles of wine.

But mostly it ends up being himself.

It isn’t in a way that’s visible to the eye of others; family, friends, and teachers, and boyfriends and girlfriends. But he scorches himself raw on the inside; he beats himself up, and bruises himself over, and over, and over again.

There is never a start, a trigger, for the pain, it comes and goes as an uninvited guest. Leaving him curled up in the middle of his double bed, out of tears, pale as a ghost, trembling in fear and feeling so, so incredibly alone in this incomprehensibly wide world.

There are days when he feels the pain coming, and fights it, and tries to keep it at bay, eventually failing. Today is one of those days.

He wakes up with a feeling of dread threatening to eat him alive, and an arm wrapped snugly around his chest. The person behind him doesn’t make him feel any better, but neither does he make him feel any worse, at a standstill for now.

“Hey,” murmurs Hongjoong from behind him, stirring. When Seonghwa looks back, he’s half out of the bed sheets, some of them twisted around his legs, most of it covering his naked body, an arm supporting his weight as he looks Seonghwa over, his keen eyes noticing even the minute shift in Seonghwa’s emotions. “You feelin’ okay?”

“I could ask you the same,” Seonghwa says, leaning back from his place on the edge of the bed, to kiss him sweetly on the cheek, to get it over with, and to run away.

Hongjoong has his eyes closed, now mostly sitting up, making grabby hands at Seonghwa until he kisses his lips, none too gently. Before the embrace has time to progress to anything beyond platonic cuddling, Seonghwa peels Hongjoong away, pushes him softly back with his hands on Hongjoong’s chest, and gets out of the bed.

“I have class, in like,” he unlocks his phone to confirm what his body clock is saying (even though it’s never right, and he’s almost always late for class or dates, or anything really), “twenty-five minutes. I don’t have time for a shower, so I’ll just look as gross as I feel during the day.” He sighs a tortured sigh, he’s thinking aloud again.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Asks Hongjoong, half buried under the bedding and pillows. “Maybe you shouldn’t go to class today. You have one in the afternoon, right? You can just go to that and skip this one, it’ll be fine.”

Seonghwa’s not sure if that’s an elaborate plan to get him back to bed, or if he’s really just concerned for him. He looks at him while putting on the headband to keep his hair out of his face while doing his morning routine, trying to asses how true his words are. He finds Hongjoong with a frown on his handsome face, looking at him critically.

The sun from the one east-facing window in the room is sneaking some of its rays through the halfway closed blinds, and onto Hongjoong’s blond hair, turning it a molten gold, like liquid honey, and Seonghwa wants to just reach inside him and ruin them both with only a few words, a few thoughtless remarks, and so he does. “I literally have class in like fifteen minutes, aren’t you leaving? We fucked, it was great, you can leave now.” He feels more than sees, Hongjoong blistering with barely contained fury, there’s a palpable tension in the air, one that could very well be cut with the dullest knife.

“Are you for real? It was great? Is that all you have to say?” There’s a thin line of sadness, under all that ire. “I thought we were passed that,” he says futilely, his words falling on deaf ears.

Seonghwa doesn’t even look at him, ruffling through the drawers in search of jeans to wear, a silky white button down hanging open at his chest, showing off all the unmarred golden skin. “You’re not my boyfriend, and you don’t live here,” he says, just to irk him even further, and he macabrely delights in the way Hongjoong’s face falls into a pit of dark despair. No matter how fucked up, he enjoys the fact that now both are feeling unhinged, and feral, and ready for a fight.

“You’re such a piece of shit sometimes, you know!” Hongjoong spats. Seonghwa’s skin prickles like a hedgehog’s at his words, his eyes narrowing. It’s not undeserved, he knows, but he still doesn’t like it.

“You can’t just treat people like crap whenever _you_ feel bad about yourself!” Hongjoong says, his voice steadily rising in volume. “We all feel like shit at times, doesn’t mean we take it out on people we love.” He says this in a more composed manner, and Seonghwa just stares at him, not feeling a damned thing. _God, how he hates himself sometimes._

He has half a mind not to throw the thing closest to him, which turns out to be a pretty holographic flower vase he got for a few bucks from the dollar store, at Hongjoong, but he also wants to see him break, so he does the next best thing, and attacks with his words.

“Well fuck you, too. I don’t owe you shit, least of all explanations why I don’t feel like fucking right after I come back from uni. Why don’t you just fuck off and leave me alone?” He knows he’s being unfair, and untruthful, because fucking is the thing they least do, simply because Seonghwa is almost never _in the mood_ , and they’re friends first, fuck-buddies second.

“I can’t believe how fucking impossible you are sometimes,” Hongjoong says, both his hands raking trough his hair, like he’s trying to stop himself from pulling it all out, straight from the roots. He’s no longer naked, as he’s been steadily putting clothes on during their fight, Seonghwa notes. He’s pulling on a shirt that’s too big for him, probably Seonghwa’s, but even their wardrobes have become mixed up in the last few months that they’ve taken their relationship a step further, often  staying over at each other’s apartments and, even more often, bringing a replacement pair of clothes, and leaving the ones they came in behind.

Seonghwa doesn’t comment on the t-shirt, just silently leaves to the bathroom to wash his face, and apply some bb cream, an indistinct sign that he’s done with the conversation. A few minutes later he hears the doors unlock and slam shut a few seconds later, rattling on its hinges, the many trinkets and key chains jingling in the quiet left behind.

He doesn’t know what that thing inside him is called, the one that makes him say all the hurtful things to push other people away, but he knows he deserves all the harsh words and pain they bring to him.

He loves Hongjoong, he tries to rationalize. But he wanted to pick a fight, to see someone burn and smoke like Molotov cocktails thrown into abandoned cars, and Hongjoong just turned out as the most liable victim for his attacks.

He wanted to see him prickle like a rose-bush, and bleed a pretty crimson from his mouth. He wished he kissed him harder when they woke up, if only because he knows he won’t apologize first, it just isn’t his style. He’ll never go crawling back to Hongjoong, he refuses, or at least he tells himself that.

And before he knows, twenty minutes have passed, and he has only five to make a fifteen minute walk down to the campus. The brown eyeliner is messed up attractively around his eyes, his almost white hair falling like eiderdown on his forehead, he straightens the collar of his button down and pats his pockets to check if he has everything he needs - phone, pen, keys and wallet - and makes a fifteen minute trek in less than eight, arriving just as the professor starts the roll call.

It takes a few hours for the guilt to set in, after his Sociology class and right before the Intro to Anglo-Saxon Law, Seonghwa feels like he was hit by a ton of bricks. The sudden realization that he shouldn’t have said what he did seems a lot like his unconsciousness undermining everything good in his life.

It’s like he lost a good portion of himself only by waking up today and simply being.

Being alive, being here, being alive, and being.

It hurts something vicious when he reminds himself that he doesn’t have to push people away, that he will gain nothing by being a piece of shit person, but it also doesn’t stop him from passing right next to Hongjoong on his way to his next class, earphones in, music blaring, his face hidden behind a cap, face turned away as if he’s shielding his eyes from the inevitable sun that is Hongjoong.

Just like their friendship was as imminent as the moon rotating around the earth each month, the progression of the same into something sexual was just the next logical step.

There was always a tension surrounding them, each touch was packed with intention and a kind of force that often left Seonghwa gasping for breath every time Hongjoong would casually pull his fingers trough Seonghwa’s, or caress his thigh while in throes of bickering with the rest of their friend group.

Their first kiss was a long time coming; it had the inevitability of a car crash.

It’s like you’re sitting in the driver’s seat and you can see the wall right in front of you, but you also know that your breaks are broken, and that there’s no stopping or saving yourself now.

The setting was less than perfect – a dirty bathroom stall in a club; Seonghwa drunk and high out of his mind, and Hongjoong perfectly sober, perfectly in control of his emotions and actions, always so, so perfect.

He still remembers the _‘You’ll regret this in the morning,’_ that Hongjoong whisper shouted before diving up for a kiss with the force of his entire body; a calamity in the making.

Did Seonghwa regret it in the morning? Yes, yes, he did. But he also felt like himself finally, in so long. Up until then, he had been weighted down with the burden of coming to terms with his own sexuality, and it all felt a little bit liberating, and a lot intimidating. But at least he had his best friend right next to himself, right? Now, he was not so sure.

After coming home after class, he performs his carefully constructed routine:

  1. take off all his clothes and throw them into the hamper,
  2. shower,
  3. fix the mess that his life had become.



Logically, he knew it would cost him absolutely nothing to just send Hongjoong a text message, or call him. Even visiting his apartment wasn’t a ludicrous idea, but Seonghwa was a prideful creature. He could not, and more importantly, he _would_ not be the one to admit to have made a mistake. To have done something wrong, and hurt Hongjoong’s feelings.

Mending a relationship takes two hands, like a flower needs water and sun; their relationship requires nourishment as well. And in this analogy, Seonghwa sees himself as the flower, perhaps a rose – a bit prickly, but beautiful none the less. He expects to be watered every other week, and protected from harsh direct sunlight, moved inside in the winter to keep warm and not to wilt.

He’s selfish and demanding, especially so when he sends Mingi a message,

**seonghwa**

is hongjoong alive?

**mingi**

idk

y don’t u ask him yourself?

He scoffs, if he wanted to do so, he wouldn’t be asking Mingi. Why does he even bother? It’s not like Hongjoong would happily jump back into his arms without asking Seonghwa to do something ridiculous, like ask him to apologize first.

**seonghwa**

whatever.

He’s not going to think about him anymore, he’s not going to bother and he doesn’t care would be the biggest lie he’s ever said.

They weren’t even not-together for long, perhaps a month and a half. While they’ve been friends for what feels like all two decades he’s lived through, when in reality it’s closer to just three years.

 

He doesn’t know why he does it, if it’s guilt or shame, or a mix of both, that makes him do it, but he finds himself calling Hongjoong. The phone rings for the next 20-30 seconds, or a whole eternity in his eyes, his heart trying to beat its way out of his flesh, and Hongjoong doesn’t answer.

He’s not sure why he expected anything else to happen, maybe the foolish feeling deep under all the layers of his thick skin makes him believe that everyone would and should forgive him as soon as he at least tries to fix the relationship his own animosity caused to deteriorate.

 

And on the next day, Hongjoong virtually disappears. He doesn’t answer Seonghwa’s many calls, and he’s not online on any of the apps both of them use.

This isn’t _yet_ a cause for concern, because it has happened before. Seonghwa remembers his panic, as if through a veil of a sheer red cloth, when Hongjoong made his disappearing act for the first time they had known each other – though it only ended up being exhaustion and lack of sleep which resulted in him sleeping for over 24 hours and not answering any of Seonghwa’s calls.

The day after, Hongjoong is still not answering his calls, so he concludes that he royally fucked up, and proceeds to send him messages every few hours saying how sorry he is, even though he tries to rationalize that he is not, he’s just doing it to get him back. But then again, why does he want him back in the first place? His own selfishness astounds him.

On day five, Seonghwa visits a liqueur store. He takes a bottle of red wine, thinks better of it, and takes two, buying a pack of “White Marlboro, long” on his way out.

The soft haze of alcohol and cigarette smoke loosens him up; just like the threads connecting himself and Hongjoong have started to do so. Even their mutual friends won’t talk to him anymore. He would’ve had fewer reactions from them if he kicked a puppy, but what hurts him the most is the fact that Hongjoong won’t let him plead for forgiveness. And if he were in his right mind, he would ask himself if he really deserves it.

By now he knows he was in the wrong and that his words were uncalled for, but he also wishes Hongjoong would let him explain that he sometimes can’t help himself but hurt people who are close to him, simply to make them keep their distance. And hurting others to keep yourself safe isn’t really the best coping mechanism, he knows, but he mostly just likes to pretend like he can. Like he can hurt others without apologizing for it first, and still have them crawl their way back into his life.

Their first time together makes a perfect example. The perfect ratio of too drunk to care and too sober not to forget it the day after: Seonghwa still remembers the biting kisses and wandering hands in the middle of a party. Probably looking like two horny teenagers to all onlookers, which, to be honest, they were. And he’d like to say it was perfect, and not at all a huge mess, but the fact that they we’re laughing throughout the whole thing says otherwise.

But then again, the word “perfect” is subjective, and as far as first times go, he’d say it was a good one. Sure it was messy, but isn’t sex always?

 

And here is the truth: Seonghwa is first and foremost a lonely creature, a creature made up of empty bottles, and broken nails, and bitten tongues. Fully and completely selfish, and would always first help himself than the closest friend.

You can put it like this: if the world was on fire, he would be the first to go.

He never understood the all-encompassing loves, eternal lovers, Patroclus and Achilles, Persephone and Hades, Apollo and Icarus. Maybe the connection scares him, maybe, as everyone else likes to tell him, he just hadn’t found ‘the right one’. But that would imply soul-mates, and, as stated before, he was the true epitome of egotistical.

Sure, it felt good to imagine spending the rest of your life in a parent approving relationship, safe and sound, cocooned in a small house, wrapped in bubble wrap, but having someone know everything about you? Showing yourself in your most vulnerable? Having to always hold back and pull away?

He likes the thought of spending the rest of his forever with Hongjoong, don’t get him wrong, it’s just that the reasons for it probably aren’t all that morally correct. He likes the security it brings, but he hates the fact that the rest of his life he is no longer _Seonghwa_ , but is Seonghwa _and_ Hongjoong.

 

With an apology on his lips, he knocks twice on the white wooden doors, and the second Hongjoong sees him, he turns his back on him, but leaves the door open, and Seonghwa counts it as a small blessing.

“I’m sorry.” His emotions feel like the soft sea-foam made by the waves crashing against the shore – there for a second, and gone the next. Hongjoong seems to think so too, based on way he’s sitting on the floor, his back (still) turned to Seonghwa. Studying from the looks of it, a rainbow of highlighters and pens spread around him, a creative mess.

“Are you really, though?” Hongjoong’s voice is so soft he barely hears him.

“We go through this every fucking time you get into your head,” he turns his head just far enough to see Seonghwa sitting behind him on the couch, as if the brush of his knees against his shoulder generating heat isn’t enough to confirm Seonghwa is behind him.

“I told you a billion times: if you don’t feel okay, you can tell me that, you don’t have to act like a piece of shit to me, like, I really won’t take it next time!”

“I know, I really am sorry though, for all it’s worth,” he says, sliding down to his knees and behind Hongjoong. “Can I touch you?”

“Why do you always think you can solve everything with sex?” But he’s already breathless, Seonghwa’s hand making a path up his stomach under his too-big hoodie; his thighs bracketing Hongjoong’s small body and mouth leaving scorching kisses down his throat and toward his collar bones.

Hongjoong caps the highlighter and turns in his embrace, a tired look on his face, but eyes shining with what’s to come.

They start the slow climb upwards, both now breathless and seeking each other’s skin. Angrily pulling at each other’s hair and leaving bruises on the skin with how hard they’re pushing and pulling, their knees rubbed raw from the carpet.

Seonghwa gasps when Hongjoong pulls himself up and into his lap, the hellish glint in his eyes giving way to softness as their eyes meet.

There’s blood in his mouth, but he’s no longer sure if it’s his own or Hongjoong’s. Does it ever matter anymore?

He spits, but only red rubies fall down and clatter somewhere into the mess Hongjoong’s living room makes. Seonghwa shuts his eyes tight and bites down onto Hongjoong’s shoulder so hard he’s afraid his own venom will infect Hongjoong’s blood as well.

As his hand passes the barrier of clothing and dark denim, he feels like a flower in full bloom – a prickly rose in all its glory, and Hongjoong his cherry bough laden with blossom. Living in the same garden, the same ecosystem, but entirely different, and yet together.

And perhaps his blood sings for him to wreak havoc in abandoned buildings to sate the demon living under his skin, but Hongjoong’s kisses taste sweeter than cherry wine, and so, at this moment, he wishes to forget the world ever existed and bathe in the selfishness of his own making in the dull roar of space.

**Author's Note:**

> i read somewhere that you'll write faster if you write in comic sans, so if you're at the end i just want you to know i wrote this whole thing in comic sans thanks 4 reading <3
> 
> you can also follow me on twitter if you click [here](https://twitter.com/aleela998) (◠‿◠✿)


End file.
